


The fear of falling apart

by ColorfulStabwound



Series: There is a number of small things [6]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-31
Updated: 2014-07-31
Packaged: 2018-02-11 05:42:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2055912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ColorfulStabwound/pseuds/ColorfulStabwound
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Theodore is about to walk out of Draco's life, but not without a fight.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The fear of falling apart

**Author's Note:**

> Something I recently re-worked a little bit. If you don't understand it, you aren't meant to.
> 
> For Theodore, you know who you are.

My mind barely registers the sound of my shoes slamming against the concrete; right, left, right, left. 

The sting of early spring nights is slapping me in the face unabashed; repeatedly. Right, left, right, left.

What I can hear is the sound of my heart, pounding in my ears in a manner that is so utterly frantic it’s a wonder that the piercing scream inside of me cannot be heard beyond the walls of my own mind. The streets are damp with the clinging sickness of winter, moist and dying for a glimpse of the sun; perhaps I am as well. I streak past darkened, sleepy windows in the blink of an eye, my gait is not that of a leisurely stroll so much as a frantic fight for survival. I want to stop, my body wants me to stop, but I cannot. 

I round a corner and my foot splashes in a large puddle that is so questionably cloudy, that I am thankful for the cover of darkness that deems it impossible to be terribly upset about. Italian leather Borgiolis can be replaced; he cannot. 

The twinkling sign of civilization comes into view in the nearing distance and I heave a ragged sigh of relief, although I’m not sure what for; I’ve not reached my destination yet. I tell myself that I can do this, that I must do this. I can’t let my thoughtless actions and rash mouth rule me forever. Right? The smell of petrol burns thick in my nostrils and I want to cough but resist the urge, instead pressing forward with renewed intensity. I must get there in time, I must reach him; stop him.

A large aircraft soars overheard and I steadily ignore it; I’ve never been comfortable around them, the mere thought of a flying metal box with wings makes me cringe. The yellow and red of countless taxis spring into view and the sound of the living assaults my senses. I know I look like a fright; it doesn’t take the strangers giving me the raised brow twice over to tell me so. A drop of sweat slides down my spine, as I nearly slam into an elderly couple hell-bent on having a look for a missing passport. I manage to keep the curse on my lips somewhat beneath my breath and I skid to a pause inside the fluorescent-lighted hell otherwise known as a muggle airport terminal.

The air inside is stagnant and sterile and I start to panic. I slowly turn in circles, my widened gaze unable to focus on any singular thing. What if I’m too late? What if that plane I saw outside was the one I meant to keep him from? My mind is screaming at me to move my arse; to find him and keep him from leaving London, at all costs. The room is spinning round and round and I feel like I can’t catch my breath, maybe I really am too late after all. My sudden inability to function certainly isn’t going to help my cause. I can feel the perspiration clinging to my lashes and my throat is impossibly dry; perhaps this is what a panic attack feels like? My fingers clench and unclench and there is a hand on my shoulder; a voice in my ear that I can’t quite make out. The touch is cool against my feverish skin and I want to sigh but it comes out as something more like a strangled cry. 

Why is this happening to me? I am not this man. This is not my design.

There is a small crowd forming around me now, I can just make out their faces behind the haze that blurs my vision in the most inconvenient of ways. Someone whispers behind his or her hand, something about a drunken lunatic and I can’t help but laugh at this. 

If they only knew.

If they only could see the real me.

A set of firmer hands is leading me towards a door without a knob and I find myself struggling against the bondage of their hold, desperate to do what I came here for. There is a sharp twist of pain in my shoulder as my arms are wrenched behind my back and cool metal bracelets are clasped around my wrists. I want to laugh at these silly muggles for their efforts; didn’t they realize how wrong this all was? A flash of dark hair in the crowd stills me and I find myself staring back at that liquid cerulean gaze that had managed to melt me over and over throughout the years of my life. In those fleeting few moments the world around us ceased to exist; there was no airport, no muggles, no past, no future. Just us.

My mind wills him to understand the words that my lips cannot produce, every emotion that I’ve ever concealed poured into that brief gaze held. If I never saw him again I wanted him to know; needed him to know. “If you love me, let me go.” His words are a whisper that I cannot hear but understand nonetheless. They tear at my heart like sharp knives in old scars and I find myself sagging against the arms of my captors. The faint scent of his cologne calls to me like a beacon and I raise my head and swallow thickly, determination ignited.

“Don’t go.” The words claw at my throat and more than anything I wish these fucking muggles would unhand me so I could get to him. Just one touch, a kiss or a sigh, and I think we would be okay. But there would be none of that, not today. Instead his brows knit together in a frown as he watches me struggle fruitlessly. I pretend that the looks of pity and concern I see in the faces of the strangers surrounding me are not mirrored in his eyes. “I wont give up without a fight!” Security is dragging me towards the ominous door and my feet are scrambling for purchase and my words are like a strangled cry in a silent mass of onlookers who don’t understand a fucking thing at all. A small ripple of relief tears through me as I’m tugged through the open doorway and the last thing that I see are those eyes.

~@~

I cannot tell you how long I’ve been sitting in this room. The one with the disgustingly unflattering fluorescent lighting that bears down on a person like it takes a sick pleasure in breaking them down. I’ve always doubted the intelligence of muggles and I can safely say that after this experience, I am no closer to sympathizing with them than I was before they dragged me back here for detainment. Every so often one of them will come in and attempt to fish non-existent information out of me and I am so tired that I really don’t care anymore. Eventually a muggle in a security outfit informs me that I am free to go and I peer skeptically at him for a long moment. “It’s about time.” I huff, already standing and straightening my tie impatiently. He’s watching me as I stride past him into the hallway and I bite my tongue as I am forced to wait for him to lead the way to my freedom. “You can thank your friend, he convinced us you were harmless.” “I don’t have any friends.” I reply quickly, honestly, and without thinking better of it and I instantly want to take it back. “Well, whoever he is, you owe him.” I met his gaze as we came upon the very door I was dragged through previous. He smiled and held the door open for me and I couldn’t even say a word. Not a single word to a stupid smiling muggle. This day was progressively moving from horrible to catastrophic. 

I stepped back out into the terminal a free man, absently rubbing at my wrists with fingertips in the places the metal had cut into them. It didn’t look much different through the eyes of apathy as it had through the eyes of fear. A sigh escaped me and I reached up, carding fingers through my hair as I headed for the exit. I felt as if I was covered in grime and I was instantly struck with a memory of the beach, of all places. The way the salty air clings to you so desperately; I suppose I felt a little bit like that, although this was anything but a day at the beach. I just wanted to go home, climb in bed and do nothing at all. Everyone mourns in his or her own ways, I am no different. 

“Did you mean it?” The sound of his voice behind me immediately brought me to a halt. My eyes slid closed and I did my best to conceal a shaky exhale. Every cell I possessed was suddenly acutely aware and I felt like the planets rotation had suddenly sped up tenfold. He was here, with me. Against all of the odds and my stupid decisions, he was still here and while a part of me thought he might need to seriously reevaluate his life choices, the rest of me was positively shaking in relief. “Absolutely.” I managed finally, my eyes sliding back open before I turned around to face my destiny. At last.


End file.
